


Into the Spider-Verse, Avoiding a Spider-Hearse

by ProseApothecary



Category: Schitt's Creek, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spider-Man, Fluff, High School, I'll be honest I just wanted a cheesy title, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Literal hurt and comfort, M/M, There's not much reference to Spider-Verse specifically, Violence and Bad One-Liners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Patrick leans back and winces a little as his shoulder twists.David looks at him. “Are you ok?”Patrick has learnt by now that the best way to avoid suspicion is by telling the truth. “I’m fine. Sometimes a bank robber gets you in a headlock. It’s life.”There’s a little gasp from Twyla, sitting behind them.Note to self: truth-telling not so effective around literal people.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 37
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick tries to concentrate, but the ripple of pain in his shoulder is making it a little difficult. The teacher definitely said something about groupwork, but he’s not sure who he’s paired with. Or what they’re doing.

A textbook drops on the desk next to his with a bang, and suddenly David’s sitting next to him.

“Ok, I don’t want to be that person who doesn’t do anything in groupwork, but I fell asleep the last time we studied this, so uh, I may need your assistance.”

Patrick blinks at him. “What are we doing?”

A look of dread crosses David’s face. “I’m definitely going to fail Eco.”

Patrick looks over at David’s open textbook. “Oh. I know this.” He gives David a reassuring look. “You’re not going to fail Eco.”

As he walks David through the process of drawing up a balance sheet, he can feel his shoulder pain fade a little. There’s something calming about drawing everything up so it’s neat and organised. And if David leans close to see his writing, well, that’s just an added benefit.

“Satisfying, right?” he asks when David completes one on his own.

David quirks an eyebrow. “It wasn’t as painful as I envisaged.”

“And you stayed awake the whole time.”

David rolls his eyes but the corner of his mouth lifts into an almost-smile.

Patrick leans back and winces a little as his shoulder twists.

David looks at him. “Are you ok?”

Patrick has learnt by now that the best way to avoid suspicion is by telling the truth. “I’m fine. Sometimes a bank robber gets you in a headlock. It’s life.”

There’s a little gasp from Twyla, sitting behind them.

_Note to self: truth-telling not so effective around literal people._

David just smiles. “Uh-huh. Do you give them some money-saving tips they can use instead of thievery? Make them a little balance sheet to work off of?”

Patrick picks up his pen. “Let me write some of this down. I think they’re really going to appreciate it.”

“Time’s up. Back to your seats,” drones the voice from the front.

David gives a little wave before he goes, then ducks his head like he’s instantly regretting it. Patrick grins and waves back.

There’s a loud whisper from behind him.

“I wrote it down for you.” Twyla hands over a piece of paper with David’s suggestions. “I know how dangerous it can be out there. My uncle’s a mall cop. And my niece is a shoplifter.”

He gives her a smile. “Thanks Twy.”

“And then there’s my cousin. He’s in over his head with a gang. Couldn’t pay back money he owed.” With a meaningful look at Patrick, she adds, “He’s meeting them tomorrow in the alley behind the deli and I’m kind of worried about what they might do to him.”

“Twy,” Patrick says carefully, “I’m not _actually_ out there apprehending criminals.”

Twyla’s face drops.

“But I do kind of have a line to someone who is,” he relents. “Send me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”

Waiting for the bad guys was always the boring part. So he’d made sure to pack some churros in his backpack this time. He makes his way to the alley where Twyla had said they’d be meeting, ready to churro-up and kick ass.

“…What are you doing here?”

David, sitting on the sidewalk, looks up at him and frowns. “Do I know you? Are you looking for recommendations on where to find a better Spider-Man costume?”

Patrick slings a web over to David’s hot dog and pulls it towards him.

“This one works pretty well.”

David’s eyes widen. “Oh. You’re actually…I mean, I feel like there were ways of demonstrating that without destroying my lunch, but sure. What are _you_ doing here, anyway? I mean, I know I jaywalked across Bay Avenue, but are there really no bigger crimes for you to deal with today?”

“I have it on good authority that a crime’s about to happen. Here. So you should probably leave.”

“Mm, I don’t think so. I’m meeting someone here. I’m just a little early. He said he had something to do…first.”

Murmured voices from inside the building sound like they’re getting closer.

_Well, if David’s not going to leave on his own._

Patrick shoots one strand of spider silk towards the roof of the nearest building, and another towards David, then starts climbing, David getting dragged up with him.

“Oh my God,” he can hear David say below him. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I always hated rope climbing in gym but this is _way fucking worse_.”

“Sorry,” Patrick says. “Limited options. Maybe you could lower the volume, just a little? This was kind of meant to be a stealth op.”

David, considerately, starts muttering under his breath.

It’s not long before Patrick clambers over the barrier onto the flat roof, pulling David up after him.

“Stay here,” Patrick slips his backpack over and gives it to David. “You can have the rest of my churros. I’ll be back in a bit.”

He starts rappelling down, getting a bird’s eye view of the situation. Twyla had shown him a photo of her cousin, George, and Patrick recognises him instantly. The two of them could be lookalikes, if not for the fact that George’s hair is made up of short curlicues framing his face.

He’s kneeling with a gun to his head, three men surrounding him.

_Yoink._

Four pairs of eyes look up as spider silk lassoes the gun and brings it to Patrick.

“I don’t want to have to use this.”

He really doesn’t. He has no idea how to aim.

The brunet who was holding the gun reaches into the waistband of his jeans and pulls out a throwing knife. Patrick tries to dodge, but it’s not his body that’s the target.

Patrick feels his spider silk slacken, and suddenly he’s crumpled on the ground.

_Ow._

He looks for the gun which had skittered away, only to see George pick it up. The brunet, accordingly, starts inching towards him.

Meanwhile, the blond is heading towards Patrick.

He’s kind of handsome, in an arthouse cinema sort of way, and it makes Patrick wonder if this was who David was meeting up with. He pulls out a knife, and Patrick considers that maybe he should try distracting someone other than himself.

“Turns out it _does_ hurt. Falling from heaven,” Patrick says, trying to right himself.

His legs are still numb as the blond corners him. He rolls out of the way, but the knife cuts through his sleeve, grazing across his arm.

_Turns out getting stabbed isn’t pleasant either. Who knew?_

Patrick staggers to his feet. He can still barely walk, but…

He launches spider silk at the building opposite them, ravelling it back up so that he’s dragged up the wall.

_Cannonball._

He turns and launches himself at the blond, who goes crashing into the wall behind him. He staggers for a few seconds before collapsing.

 _One down,_ Patrick thinks, quickly binding his arms and legs.

_Goddammit._

Apparently George and the brunet ringleader started wrestling for the gun about when Patrick was pondering David’s dating habits.

“You’re outnumbered.” Patrick yells, making his way towards them. “Give me the gun.”

The brunet holds it for a second, but George lunges for it and suddenly it’s skittering over to Patrick.

“Thanks,” says Patrick. He picks it up, fumbles slightly and a bullet digs into the brick wall opposite him.

_Note to self: don’t buy churros before a fight._

“Greasy hands,” Patrick says apologetically, as he rights the gun and points it at the brunet.

He starts charging.

_Bluff called._

Patrick runs into the street, backing behind a streetlight. He propels spider silk at the brunet’s face, then ravels it back, quickly enough that he slams into the steel structure.

He drags his body back into the alleyway, tying him up with spider silk.

“Thanks for your help, George. I don’t want to give you the whole Scared Straight monologue, but-”

“I get it,” George says, voice croaky. “No more deals with gang members.”

“Attaboy. You know,” he says, coming closer, “if you ever need any help-”

George backs away.

_Note to self: Don’t approach people after slamming someone into a streetlight._

“…Well, I’m sure Twyla will let me know. You need a lift anywhere?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” George scurries away.

Patrick makes a quick phone call, letting the police know where to find two criminals, wrapped up neatly, then climbs back up the side of the building.

When he returns to the roof, David’s on his last churro. It seems like they’ve had a calming effect.

“Criminals apprehended?”

“Uh-huh. One minor issue.”

David notices the graze across Patrick’s arm and goes ice-pale.

“ _Jesus_. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Nope, no one can know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says David, starting to dial the number before a web yanks it from his hands.

“If who I am gets out I’m going to have a lot more knife wounds to deal with. I’m going to need you to help.”

“You need my help, with the blood currently gushing from your shoulder. Great. Today’s going great for me.”

“Sorry. It’s not ideal for me either,” says Patrick, rummaging in his backpack for bandages and hands them to David.

David starts wrapping Patrick’s shoulder up. “I hope you know this is the most repulsive thing I’ve ever done. And I once had to be in a sauna with Carrot Top.”

He finishes bandaging Patrick up and promptly leans over the side of the building.

“There goes the churro,” Patrick says wistfully, patting David on the back. David turns around and fixes him with a highly Displeased look.

“Thank you, David,” says Patrick with more sincerity.

David gives him a strange look. “…How do you know my name?”

_Oh fuck. He was going to get better at this superhero thing one day._

Patrick swallows. “You told me.”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t exactly have time for pleasantries.”

David looks at his arm. Patrick follows his gaze, wondering if it’s bleeding through the bandage, and David uses the moment to pluck his mask off.

_Double fuck. He really wasn’t going to get better at this superhero thing._

“ _Jesus_. Patrick? Of all people-”

“Don’t sound _too_ surprised,” says Patrick, frowning slightly.

“No,” says David, “it’s just that you seem so…”

“Boring?” offers Patrick, raising an eyebrow.

“No. Not boring. I was going to say dorky. Rule-abiding. Conformist?”

“Ok,” interrupts Patrick, “thank you.”

“But obviously not,” says David, gesturing to his costume. He’s still staring, and Patrick shifts uncomfortably.

“So when you said a robber had you in a headlock…”

“A robber really did have me in a headlock. I realised a long time ago that me telling the truth is a lot less suspicious than me trying to lie.”

“Oh, yeah, you can’t lie for shit.”

Every truth about the Roses’ lives is so absurd that Patrick doesn’t think the same strategy will work with David. “What about you? Think you can manage to keep it on the down low?”

“Obviously. It’s not like you’re the first guy who’s asked me that.”

Patrick flushes, just a little.

“Quick question,” David says. “About the criminals that I imagine are now wrapped up in about 2 tons of spiderwebs. Which, incidentally, sounds like a fate worse than death-”

“Are you getting to the question?”

“Was one of them blonde? Green eyes? Kinda sexy Swedish accent?”

Patrick nods. “Sorry. Tinder date?”

“It’s ok. Expecting someone that attractive _not_ to try to murder me was probably unrealistic.”

“For the record, I don’t think he was out to murder you, specifically. It was more of a gang situation.”

“Huh,” says David, looking thoughtful.

“…I still wouldn’t recommend a second date.”

“Right, of course not. Just, do you think he was planning on murdering anyone? Or was it more of a general intimidation-”

“David.”

“Right, no, no more dating gang members.”

David pulls down the sleeves of his jumper before his eye catches on something. “ _Fuck_.”

Patrick glances over his body. “Are you hurt?”

“Emotionally,” says David, holding his arm up to show the unravelled sleeve of his woollen jumper.

Patrick stares at him for a second before starting to laugh.

“This was custom-made at a Peruvian stall,” says David, glaring at him.

Patrick holds up his arm. “You want me to web-patch it?”

David clutches his arm to his chest. “I absolutely do not.”

“You sure? It’s just a polymer. It doesn’t have spiders inside it.”

“I don’t need anything in any way reminiscent of spiders on my person. I’m having real trouble understanding why someone would cosplay a spider.”

Patrick shrugs. “At least I’m not Milky Bug Man.”

“Thank you for bringing up _that_ memory, just when I thought maybe people had forgotten about it.“

“I just don’t understand why you stood on your desk. I mean, you _know_ a bug can crawl up a table leg.”

“A bug which you captured and took outside, by the way. You know that killing bugs is like, one of the two things spiders are known for, right? I feel like you didn’t think this alter ego through properly.”

“Well, I do have fangs.”

“…Really?”

“No.”

“Ok. Not that I’m not enjoying this conversation, but I’d really like to be on ground-level again, so um, I’m gonna go.”

“Oh, you’re ready to web-sling down?”

“I’ll take the stairs.”

“There are no stairs.”

David stares at Patrick.

“I’m not _web-slinging_ down.”

Patrick thinks. “We could climb down the side. That would take a lot longer though, so if anything I think it would be more stressful. Or we could web-sling to a building with an accessible roof. And then you could just take the stairs. Maybe I could make a web bridge. Like a rope bridge, but extremely bouncy.”

David watches him ponder with increasing panic. “You see how none of these options are good, right?”

“I really do. But I don’t see any others.”

David sighs and pulls his knees in to his chest.

“Ok, well what do you recommend?”

“Rappelling. It’ll be this slow descent with a view of the city. Like a glass elevator ride.”

“…Why would you bring up glass elevators?”

“Ok, um, more like rock climbing?”

“Oh my God. Can we get this over and done with before you compare it to more terrifying things?”

Patrick keeps a tight hold of David, but it’s not really necessary with the way David’s fingers are digging into him.

They’re buffeted by a breeze while the city spreads out beneath them. “This is actually a really nice view.”

“I’m sure,” says David, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

“Almost there,” Patrick says, before there’s a gentle _thud_ and they’re on the ground.

David opens his eyes cautiously. His grip loosens, but he keeps his arms around Patrick for a few seconds while he regains his feet.

“You ok?”

“Yes. Um, thank you. Bye,” he says, walking off, a little dazed.

“David? Don’t you live on the other side of town?”

“Right. I knew that,” says David, turning around. “Oh. Maybe you should…get dressed?”

Patrick suddenly realises he’s unmasked, in costume. “Right. I knew that.”

David gives him a little smile.

Patrick motions to a nearby alley. “I’m just going to get changed. Then I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to,” says Patrick. “But it’s up to you.” He slips into the alley.

When he exits, in his button-up and slacks, David’s waiting for him.

“Oh my God, could you take any longer?” David says, already walking with Patrick in step. “What if someone wanted to walk down that alley? I’d have to be like, ‘Wait, there’s a naked Spider-Man in there.’ Which probably would’ve encouraged them. Knowing your fans.”

Pink creeps onto Patrick’s cheeks as he remembers what comes up in the Spider-Man tag on Twitter. “…There _are_ moments when I’m glad my identity isn’t public.”

“I’m sure.” David says. “The fanpage is full of people just waiting to be tied up in spider-silk.”

Patrick blinks. “You’re on the fanpage?”

“No.”

“…It sounded like you just said you’re on the fanpage.”

“I’ve _seen_ the fanpage. I got stuck in an internet hole.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, grin spreading. “What else does the fanpage say?”

“It says that you get your ass kicked. A lot.”

“Thank God I have someone to bandage me up,” Patrick says, and he’s glad to see he’s not the only one who gets flushed.

“This is me,” David says, standing at the door of a small brick house that looks a lot more _quaint_ than Patrick was expecting. “I would offer you an invitation, but my parents-”

Moira, accordingly, opens the door. “David. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Do you remember how to fold cheese?”

David gives her a look. “This is-”

“Oh! Hello…Peter.” Moira attempts.

Patrick’s eyes widen. “Oh, it’s-”

“Parker?”

Patrick shakes his head and opens his mouth to correct her.

“Porker?”

“Not a name,” David glowers.

“Miles,” she says with an air of definitiveness.

“Patrick,” he manages to get out.

Moira raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“He’s sure,” says David.

“Well, Pat, would you like to come in for tacos?”

David, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head.

“I’d love to, Mrs Rose.”

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Johnny says, as they sit down over slightly burnt tacos. “David never brings friends over.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” David says, and silence settles on the table.

“Well,” Patrick says. “David’s friends are pretty busy. You know, with model UN, and school council, and-”

Johnny’s eyes light up. “Your friends with the school council? Oh, David the networking opportunities-”

David looks across at Patrick with a thankful smile. Patrick can feel something twist in his stomach, up until the point that David takes a bite from his taco and promptly gags.

“How is it?” Moira asks.

“So good,” Patrick says while David coughs.

Moira beams at him.

Alexis smacks David on the back and the coughing subsides.

“You’re so not what I expected from one of David’s friends. I mean, for one thing, you look like you go to the gym. Do you go to they gym?” she asks, propping up her head on her hand.

Patrick coughs. “Uh. Not exactly.”

“You total liar, look at those arms! Hopefully I see you next time I’m working on my Krav Maga.”

“She’s spent the last two sessions learning how to spell it,” David pipes up, but he doesn’t look at Patrick.

Patrick tries and fails to catch his eye.

He tries and fails for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick spends the next few days wondering what, exactly, he did wrong.

On Tuesday, he sits next to David in Economics, fully intending to ask.

_Hey, sorry for whatever I did that made you hate me. Any chance you could tell me what it was?_

Instead, what comes out is, “Hi.”

“Hey,” David says, capping and uncapping his pen. “Look, um, if you’re trying to get an in with Alexis, that’s _fine_ , but my opinion means approximately jack shit to my sister. So…this is not the way.”

David sounds jealous. Which is interesting. Among other things.

“I figured. If I was trying to get an in with Alexis, I’d buy an elliptical machine.”

David turns to him. The corner of his mouth makes a valiant attempt to stay down.

Patrick coughs, realising he’s been looking a little too long.

_Change the subject._

“You remember the advice you gave me last lesson?”

“To start giving free financial advice to Toronto’s criminal classes? Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, someone tried to mug me last week, and now he’s giving me updates on his savings account, so…good call.”

The corner of David’s mouth is definitely failing in its mission.

“So you’re saying that I should take on the role of Spider-Man instead?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“I’ll think about it. Does the suit come in a more relaxed fit?”

“A spider-lounge-suit,” Patrick says thoughtfully. “I knew there was a reason why you’re my ideas man.”

David rubs his knuckle above his lips. He might be trying to hide a smile, but Patrick doesn’t hide his.

He spends the evening sitting in bed, trying to concentrate on homework.

David sends him a picture of a toddler’s Spider-Man bathrobe along with the comment _I’m buying you this._

 _Bold of you to assume I don’t already own seven_ , Patrick responds.

David doesn’t reply, which means Patrick has to actually focus on maths for the next couple of hours.

His phone only buzzes again at eight o’clock. Patrick looks at it hopefully, but it’s a call from an unknown number. He picks it up, only to hear a familiar voice.

_Patrick? Is that you? Twyla told me what you did for me and I need-_

His voice drops to a whisper.

_-I need your help again, please. I’m at the old warehouse on Jude Street. They’re here, Patrick, I can hear them._

His voice cracks on the last word. Patrick tries to propel his brain into professional mode. “It’s ok, George. I’m on my way. How many are there? Are they armed?”

_I don’t know. Two, maybe? They’re here, Patrick, I can hear them. I can’t talk Patrick, I can’t, they’ll hear me. Please._

And with that, the line goes dead.

Patrick hurries, slipping his spider-suit on under his regular clothes, grabbing his backpack and heading downstairs.

His parents are curled up on the couch.

“I’ll be out for a couple hours. Homework club.”

Marcy looks at him. “Isn’t this the third homework club this week?”

“Maybe you should consider going to a party instead,” Clint contributes.

“So much trigonometry,” Patrick says, making his way out. “So little time.”

He makes his way to the warehouse swiftly, ducking into an alley to slip off his street clothes and stuff them in his backpack.

He takes a look around the perimeter and opens the door. It squeaks as soon as he touches it.

_Hey, who needs the element of surprise?_

A bubbling vat ahead of him draws his focus, so, for a moment, he doesn’t notice.

George stands on a gangway ahead of him, gun pointed at Patrick. David stands next to him, gagged, hands cable-tied together.

_Ah, fuck. He’s definitely not getting better at this superhero thing._

“Put your hands up,” George says. “No web-slinging. No tricks. Or you’ll get a lovely mosaic of your boyfriend’s skull.”

David makes a muffled, panicked sound.

_Probably at the threat of violence. Possibly at the boyfriend implication._

Patrick acquiesces, and says, “Maybe we should both put our hands up. You know, full cooperation.”

He tries to meet David’s gaze. He thinks there’s a chance Alexis has passed on some knowledge, and he’s hoping if he gets through the haze of panic, David will catch on.

No such luck. David’s put his hands up, but he’s staring at Patrick, confused.

Patrick sighs. He might have to get obvious about it. “I just have this mosquito bite that’s like, _right_ on my knee, so if I have to bring my hands _down, rapidly-_ ”

David catches on, breaking the cable tie in two. But George’s head turns, even before the noise, and just as Patrick is about to lasso him with spider silk, David panics and pushes him. Off the gangway. Straight into a bubbling vat.

There’s a sickening fizz as his body falls in.

“Mn mn-mn mn mmpft.” David has a moment of realisation, unties the fabric around his mouth and says. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“No,” says Patrick. “Self-defence. Are you ok?”

“ _Physically_ ,” David says, and Patrick beams, overcome with relief, and the sensation of David being so utterly _David_. Until he’s hit with a sense of realism.

“Let’s get you home,” Patrick says. “After that…I understand if you never want to hang out again.”

“Patrick,” David says seriously. “You _need_ me.”

Patrick can’t disagree with that.

“Um.” David’s eyes widen. “I really need _you_ to have the solution for this one, though.”

Patrick notices it, then. George, now with a sickly green slime dripping from his pores, indents on his skin, almost like scales. Climbing from the vat.

Patrick launches a string of spider silk at his wrist. And watches, panic rising, as he rips it in two.

“David. Get out of here,” he says, hoping he sounds a little calmer than he feels.

George takes a leap, getting a hand on the edge of the gangway as Patrick backs the both of them away.

“Please tell me you have a gun,” David says.

“…I’m 16. Who’s going to sell me a gun?”

“Oh my God. You can make web-shooters but you can’t make a gun?”

“I trust myself a little more with polymers than I do with a life-ending machine. Now _please_ , wait outside at least?”

David looks at him reluctantly. “ _Fine_. You got a way for me to get down?”

Patrick looks around. George is between them and the stairs, so he shoots a web to the ground and secures the other end to the grate of the gangway, giving David an apologetic look.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” David says, but he acquiesces, awkwardly clambering down.

When Patrick looks up, George is standing in front of him, grinning.

_Stall stall stall stall stall._

“Your friends I left tied up in the alley. What happened to them?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” George says, as his fist meets Patrick’s face.

Patrick’s back hits the grate, and he can feel the bruises running up his ribs already. He tastes rust, and spits out a tooth. _That’s gonna be fun to explain to his dentist._

He gestures to the vat as Patrick tries to pick himself up. “We created something that could take people beyond the limits of human strength. And they were selling it as steroids. Using it as a cutting agent. It was feeble. Weak-minded.”

“Thank God you found a higher purpose,” Patrick says, dodging a second hit and managing to swipe at his jaw in the meantime.

It’s like hitting armour. Patrick thinks he’s broken skin, until he realises the streaks of blood across George’s cheek are from his own knuckles.

“Unquestionable power,” George says, unbothered. “What could be higher than that? As long as you don’t have other superpowers _butting in_ ,” he says, a blow glancing off Patrick’s cheek.

 _It still hurts like a motherfucker, but it’s lighter than the others_. He web-slings to a corner of the ceiling, and pulls himself up. _Maybe he can wait this out. But he’ll have to make his move before George realises, and refuels._

“If you’re not going to stick around,” George says. “I guess I’ll have to find David.” And Patrick rapidly rethinks his plans.

“You sure you want to leave me with the suspect-looking goo vat?” he asks.

“Try it. The effects on the uninitiated are always entertaining. Of course, you’re _special_. You might survive.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on taking any,” Patrick says, flinging a web at the furthest rim of the vat. “My second grade teacher would be _so_ disappointed in me.”

He grabs hold of the web with both hands, and yanks.

George’s eyes widen as the vat topples with a _bang_ , liquid flooding the warehouse and seeping into the floor.

He glances at Patrick with vibrant panic in his eyes, then starts running for the stairs. Patrick strikes when he’s at the end of the gangway, securing him to the wall with 1,2,3,4 netted webs. _Can’t be too careful._

He struggles, but Patrick can see it, the fight leaving his body.

Patrick takes a long breath out.

He waits until he sees the police cars arrive this time, just to make sure. Hidden in a tree with David isn’t a bad way to spend an evening.

“Do you think Twyla knew?” David asks, once he’s explained the whole debacle.

“I seriously doubt it,” Patrick says. “She didn’t know the Easter bunny wasn’t real until last year.”

They watch as George is shepherded into the back of a police car.

“Come home with me,” David says. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

_Also not a bad way to spend an evening._

Medical supplies litter David’s bed, where the two of them sit, cross-legged. David has a surprisingly good bedside manner, aside from the way he grimaces at every injury.

He’s lifting up Patrick’s wrist to clean the grazes on his knuckles when he nudges against the suit, and suddenly there’s spider silk splayed to the ceiling.

“Hair trigger?” David asks, and _ok, is he doing this on purpose?_

Patrick tries to ravel it back in, but nothing’s happening.

“Must’ve broken during the fight.” He resigns himself to climbing up the rope, planting his feet on the ceiling so he has some leverage, and pulling.

“You’re hopeless,” David says, standing up on his bed as if he’s about to help, and _oh_ , suddenly their faces are a few inches apart.

_And it turns out David’s face is just as nice upside-down. Go figure._

“What exactly are you planning on doing?” Patrick asks. “I thought you refused to touch anything remotely spider-related.”

“Yeah,” David says, “you’re lucky I like you.”

And ok, he probably doesn’t mean it like _that_ , but David’s mouth is right there, and all the adrenaline and blood rushing to his brain must be seriously inhibiting his rationality, because Patrick finds himself pressing his lips to David’s.

He pulls back, and David blinks several times.

“David?” comes a voice from the corridor “Do not go to that Italian restaurant on East Street. The arancini were _soaked_ in oil and-oh.” Suddenly Moira is standing in the doorway.

“Well. I’ll update you later.” She pulls the door closed.

“What is it?” comes Johnny’s voice. “Is David ok?”

“Our son is not the one trussed up,” Moira says. “I’d say he’s more than ok.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” David yells, laying his head in his hands. “Nothing is happening. And we can _hear_ you.”

“Oh,” Johnny says. “Son, we endorse all your se-”

“Sweetheart,” Moira interrupts, “now is not the time.”

_That_ is when the thread breaks, and Patrick finds himself being dropped head-first into David’s bed.

“ _Ow._ ”

“…Everything ok in there?” comes Johnny’s voice.

“Everything is _fine_ ,” David yells, then sits back on the bed. “Is it actually, or do you have a concussion? Because you would really be doing me a favour if you remembered nothing of the last 2 minutes.”

“No such luck,” Patrick mumbles, debating whether he should try to sit up, or just cut his losses and suffocate in David’s silk pillowcase.

But David has a hand on his arm, and he’s pulling him up.

“Hi,” he says, when Patrick is sitting up.

“Hi.”

“So,” David says, putting on a matter-of-fact tone of voice but also not looking quite at Patrick. “Did all of that completely demolish the chance of a second kiss?”

Patrick blinks several times. “No, um. That’s definitely still. Still on the table.”

Seeing the corner of David’s mouth curl gives him courage.

“But maybe you should take me out to dinner first. I mean, I did save your life?”

David wrinkles his nose. “I could’ve saved my own life. I made up half the on-the-ground team for my sister’s prison escape. But if you insist…the pizza parlour down the street? 7:30? Friday?”

Patrick grins. “Perfect. I should probably get home, my parents are going to have a hard time believing homework club goes until 3. But I’ll see you then.”

“I can check my parents aren’t downstairs,” David says. “I really don’t think you want to endure the small talk they make with people they think I’ve slept with.”

Just the thought of seeing David’s parents after their confrontation is making Patrick break out in a cold sweat. “Uh, I think I’m going to take the window.”

“Completely understandable.”

Patrick leans forward, fingers drifting across David’s cheek, and kisses him again.

“Hey,” he says thoughtfully. “Is this going on the fanpage?”

“Oh my God,” David says. “Bye.”

“You can admit it, now that we’re dating. You’re the admin, right?”

“I’m getting the bug spray,” David says, reluctant smile stretching across his cheeks.


End file.
